


Things You Said When I Was Crying

by two__kinds



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, MSR, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-30 23:03:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10886739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/two__kinds/pseuds/two__kinds
Summary: Written for the prompt of the same name - "Things you said when I was crying." Scully is struggling after her second encounter with Donnie Pfaster. It's a drabble - I can't say too much without giving it away. ;)





	Things You Said When I Was Crying

Like a good federal agent, you have gone through your checklist of things to do in order to feel normal again after being gagged and tied up by a serial killer with a fetish for skin and fingernails.

Refuse to cry like a helpless little girl in front of Mulder like last time? Check. Take a shower hot enough to leave your skin raw and crimson twenty minutes later? Check. Wrap your body in thick flannel pajamas and four of Mulder’s warmest blankets? Check and check.

Mulder has taken the couch, because he figures you want to be alone. 

You had, of course, set your jaw in a straight line and nodded blankly when he told you, his voice troubled but careful (he knows better by now than to coddle you) that he’d be just down the hall if you needed anything. 

_Do not let him see you fall apart_ , you had ordered yourself firmly, even as it took every ounce of dignity and self-control you possessed not to cry out for him to stay. _Stay, please don’t go, I cannot be alone with this so soon._

Your self-control honed as it is after all these years, you had kept your lips pursed and your eyes dry, waited for him to leave, and willed your limbs to cease their trembling as you laid back against his pillows.

Minutes later, the shaking has moved from your arms and legs throughout your torso and, you’re fairly certain, into your internal organs. The lacerations on your back are smarting with each micromovement, so you clutch at your own wrists in an attempt to control the tremors. Immediately, you feel Pfaster’s hands there instead. _You’re all I think about, girly girl._

Desperate, you tighten your hands into fists. Your fingernails make dents in your sweaty palms, and you seize. _Who does your nails, girly girl?_

Your control is slipping, your mind racing, vision blurring. When you stifle a violent gasp against the pillow, you smell Mulder’s aftershave on the pillowcase and you come undone. 

Sobs are being wrenched from your gut without your permission, and if you could feel anything other than blind anguish, you’d be angry, because it isn’t fair. Nothing that has happened tonight has been with your permission. Nothing that has happened in as long as you can remember has been with your fucking permission.

Mulder appears -- of course he does -- and at once he is crouched by the bed, speaking your name in a hushed, reassuring tone that only makes your tears fall harder.

“Scully,” he says, over and over again. “It’s okay, you’re safe.”

He grows quiet for a moment, and even through your panic, you can feel his hesitation just before he asks, “Can I lie down beside you?”

You manage a nod. _Yes, please, don’t go. Please stay._ You still can’t bring yourself to speak the words aloud.

He stretches out on the bed, his face close enough to yours that you could probably see the light from the street lamps reflected in his eyes, if not for the tears obstructing your vision. You breathe in, breathe out, try to ignore the fact that you have hands because clearly that is enough to set you off, and focus on Mulder’s even breaths. 

“Scully,” he murmers again. “What can I do?”

“I don’t know,” you choke. You gulp in a few more mouthfuls of air, feeling your muscles finally begin to relax. Tears are still scalding your cheeks with no promise of reprieve, and you don’t plan on saying anything more. It’s enough that he’s here.

But nothing is happening with your permission tonight, so the words stumble from your throat anyway. “Why does no one ever wants to touch me unless it’s to hurt me?”

Through tear-filled eyes, you see Mulder’s face tighten painfully. “That isn’t true,” he tells you gently. “You know that isn’t true.”

“It is,” you insist, voice catching. 

“I touch you,” he whispers, emphasizing the point with a brush of his fingertips across your temple. “I always want to touch you, Scully.”

“That’s different.” Your teeth are chattering now, and you give up on trying to control it. “Every - every intimate touch I have felt or s-so many years has been evil and violent.” You close your eyes against a fresh onslaught of tears and feel your muscles tensing again. “Men who stuffed me in c-car trunks -- stole my ovaries, tried to burn me alive or cut off my f-fingers…” You feel the panic rising rapidly in your chest, and draw your knees up against it. 

“Why?” You whisper miserably. “Why can’t someone touch my body without trying to tear it apart?”

“Oh, Scully.” Mulder says sadly. He scoots closer to you, his arm closing around your waist. “This probably isn’t the time,” he whispers, pressing his lips firmly against your forehead. “I’ve always sucked at timing.” He uses the pad of his thumb to caress your tear stained cheek. “But you have to know -- your body deserves to be touched with nothing but your pleasure as the goal.”

Your heart swells at his words, and maybe you should feel self-conscious but you don’t. You realize distantly that you have almost stopped shaking. Mulder is touching you in sweet caresses, his breath warm against your face.

You close the small space between your bodies, allowing him to move his other arm around your back -- gently, so gently, mindful of your injuries.

“Mulder,” you say, pressing your ear against his chest to listen to the healthy thud-thud of his heart. This time, you don’t swallow the words. “Don’t go.” You slip one hand up to stroke his warm skin under the soft cotton of his t-shirt. “Please stay.”

“Always.”

As sleep begins a miraculous descent over your exhausted mind, your last coherent thought is, _I don’t want my body to be touched by anyone but you, Mulder._


End file.
